


left behind

by wewriteletters



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Dehydration, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Night Terrors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:47:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29147700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wewriteletters/pseuds/wewriteletters
Summary: Malcolm struggles to stay sane, and alive, after being locked in a closet at school.For Bad Things Happen Bingo: Dehydration.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699966
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	left behind

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah we're doing this. And killing two birds with one stone since I have dehydration on my bad things happen bingo card! 
> 
> Sorry Malcolm <3

The sun had set long ago, leaving the interior of the closet pitch black. It had already been dark before, but now without even the small glimmer of light that could be seen from the window through the slates on the door was gone. Malcolm had stopped keeping track of time hours ago, his mind unable to stop racing for long enough to take stock of what was happening.

In the darkness, the space felt somehow even more cramped. Malcolm had nudged himself between a vacuum and mop bucket to try and at least feel some semblance of spatial awareness, but it wasn’t helping much. 

He was trapped. Malcolm had tried everything he could to get out. He screamed for hours, but that did nothing except dry out his throat even faster. He tried slamming himself against the door over and over again, but that just wore out his already limited energy. 

It was a long weekend and the main academic building was locked; no one would return until the janitors came to clean the classrooms Tuesday morning. He was still holding out hope that his mother would figure out he was still at the school and send someone to come look for him. She had to have realized he never got on the car to the Hamptons. 

Someone had to notice he was gone. 

\----------------

Malcolm was shaking, the cold tile seeping past his school uniform and onto his skin. He had never felt so hungry and thirsty before. But his main problem right now was that he really, really, had to go to the bathroom.

He’d had to for hours. At first, Malcolm just considered using the mop bucket; at least it would be cleaner and slightly less mortifying, but part of him was still so sure he’d be rescued any minute now, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Malcolm tried sitting up, crossing his legs and squirming the whole time. He had to focus. He was exhausted but he couldn’t bring himself to sleep; the last thing he needed was to experience a night terror while trapped in here. 

Was this the universe punishing him? The name “Malcolm Whitly” still rang in his ears. How had Nicky known who he was? His hand began to shake again and Malcolm brought it close to his chest, delicately cradling it, like it was an injured baby bird. He tried forcing it to stop with his mind but it didn’t work. 

What was happening to him?

\----------------

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he woke up screaming. 

The only thing that kept him from completely losing his mind was the beam of sunlight shining through the vents on the closet door. It must be morning.

Malcolm scooted back against the wall of the closet and brought his knees up to his face and buried his face in them. He did his best to regulate his breathing, the way Gabrielle taught him to. It never seemed to work when he had night terrors at home, and it didn’t work now. He quickly found himself hyperventilating. 

He had been locked in a trunk with the girl in the box. He felt her cold hands grab his wrist and pull him closer, until all he could feel was her pale, bruised skin. The only thing he could see were her eyes, brown, but shining in the darkness. 

“Now you know how it feels,” she whispered. “Being stuck in here forever.” 

Malcolm snapped his head up so hard, he almost hit it against the wall behind him. The ground below him was wet. At first, he thought one of the bottles of cleaner had spilled.

Until he realized it wasn’t.

Malcolm jumped up on instinct and raced to the other side of the closet. 

Disgusting. Pathetic. He deserved this. Wallowing around in his own filth in a cell just like his father. 

Actually, his fathers cell was much nicer than this. At least he had a toilet. 

Malcolm felt around until he found a roll of paper towels. He cleaned himself up as best he could, but he couldn’t bring himself to take off his pants or underwear. If someone did find him soon and he was half naked, Malcolm knew he would never live it down. 

He had bigger problems now. Considering the fact that he wasn’t drinking any water, he at least wouldn’t have to worry about wetting himself again. But that would just mean his dehydration would just get worse.

It had only been a day. He could get through this. 

He had too.

\----------------

Another day and night came and went. Malcolm forced himself to stay up, not wanting to subject himself to any more terror than he was already feeling. 

His stomach would not stop grumbling. He didn’t know the exact time or day, he was too disoriented for that, but he knew it had to be at least forty eight hours since he last ate. And he was never one for eating big meals.

The thirst was almost unbearable. He would even drink dirty mop water at this point, but all the buckets in the closet were empty. 

“Rule of three’s,” he mumbled weakly under his breath. His father had taught him about that. An average human could survive three minutes without oxygen, three days without water, and three weeks without food. Hunger felt horrible, but it wouldn’t kill him. Thirst, however, will. And it would just be in a matter of days.

He should have screamed and tried to knock down the door when he first was locked in.

He didn’t have the strength to do that anymore. 

\----------------

The ache in Malcolm’s head wouldn’t go away. His mouth felt like it was coated in sand. He wasn’t able to cry anymore. 

He was curled up on the floor, not caring about the smell of piss or the fact that he could hear how quickly his heart was beating. He couldn’t stand up anymore; his legs gave out on him and he was too dizzy to keep straight. Even his thoughts were jumbled.

He heard his mother’s voice, telling him to keep fighting. And he heard the girl in the box’s voice, telling him to let go.

He desperately wanted to let go. 

\----------------

Somehow, he made it through another day. At least Malcolm thought he had; he saw the light above him but was unable to stand up and look out the vent. Even if he heard someone walking in the hallways, he’d be too weak to yell. 

One more night passed. 

His head felt too light to hurt anymore. Malcolm couldn’t keep his eyes open for long; they drifted open and closed like waves on the sea. 

“My boy,” his father said from beside him. Martin had shown up sometime last night and wasn’t going away. “You’re dying. Your organs will begin shutting down from lack of water soon.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Malcolm mouthed the words but he doubted any sound came out. 

Martin laughed. “It must be karma, right? How fitting of you to die this way.” 

Malcolm forced his eyes open, as visions of the girl in the box danced before him. 

“Almost poetic,” Martin whispered. 

Malcolm’s eyes closed again. 

And this time they didn’t open.

\----------------

When Malcolm opened his eyes again, a bright light greeted him. It was so bright, in fact, that his first reaction was to block it with his arm. After days in the dark closet, any kind of light felt blinding. However, he quickly realized he was unable to move his arm; there was something attached to it that was keeping it still.

His first thought was that he was dead. He died of dehydration. It was a slow, painful death. Malcolm wondered how long it would take for them to find his body, if he would barely be a husk of himself by then. Tears came to his eyes as he imagined the reaction his mother would have. She’d blame herself; after all, it was her idea to send him to Remington in the first place. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how his father would react. 

But then, his eyes began to adjust, and he noticed the ceiling tiles that surrounded the light.

Malcolm looked down groggily, struggling to keep his eyes focused. He was covered in something white that was almost as bright as the light overhead. When he moved his head towards his arm, he noticed an IV was connected to the crook of his elbow. 

And on his right side was Gil, sleeping in a chair. 

He was in the hospital. So he wasn’t dead. The tears that had already been there welled even more in his eyes, but none fell, probably due to how dehydrated he still was. He licked his lips, trying to get all the moisture he could, before, whispering a soft “Gil?”

Even saying the one word caused his dry throat to strain in protest, but he forced himself to continue repeating himself, trying to get the older man's attention. 

Finally, Gil opened his eyes, looking just as confused at his surroundings as Malcolm had been moments ago. But slowly he blinked and his eyes finally fell on Malcolm and lit up. 

“Kid! You’re awake.” Gil sat up straighter in his chair as he glanced over Malcolm. “God, we were so worried about you.” 

“What...what happened?” Malcolm mumbled, his energy depleted from trying to get Gil’s attention. 

“Oh.” Gil’s face fell. “Well...a janitor found you this morning. You were passed out and severely dehydrated. They had to rush you to the hospital and give you IV fluids, but your blood pressure and heart rate have all gone back to normal so you should be able to go home tomorrow.” 

“Why didn’t anyone look for me?” Malcolm hated how accusatory his voice sounded, but he needed to know how it took so long for him to be found. He hated that he was even considering the thought that no one cared enough to bother, but since his father’s arrest he had always struggled to tell when people, even his own family, were being genuine. The tears finally began to fall as he mumbled, “Did you guys forget me?”

“No, of course not Malcolm!” Gil was quick to shut down the line of questioning. “Kid, your mother was beside herself. Hell, she almost fired Adolpho and you know how much she loves her driver.” Malcolm didn’t laugh at the bit of levity Gil tried to inject, so he continued in a more serious tone. “We could never forget about you. Jackie, your mom, your sister, they’ve been here waiting for you to wake up. They went down to get lunch but they’ll be back soon. I can call them now?”

“No,” Malcolm replied softly, trying to take deep breaths and let the stress he was feeling dissipate. “No, I’m fine just being here with you now.” Malcolm looked down and realized his hand was shaking, just like it had been in the closet. He suppressed a grown, but before he could try and control it himself, he felt Gil reach over and close his hand in his. 

“I’m not going anywhere, kid. None of us are.”

Malcolm exhaled and leaned back against the pillow. His hand soon stopped shaking, as Gil ran comforting circles over his palm. 

He could finally rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
